Don't Get Dead | TWD | Volume 1

[11] Smoke up Ahead

I single-handedly delayed the process of leaving Atlanta by a day, and for what? Nothing, as far as I could tell. My dad was still missing, and we were leaving for the C.D.C. in less than an hour. That night was probably the worst. I had ever experienced; I didn't sleep, the murky thoughts preventing me from getting the rest I desperately needed.

The looks I got the next morning were just as unbearable. When anybody came near me, I kept my eyes down and continued packing up my things. I couldn't speak to them, not now—not when they were making me leave the one thing I had left in this world.  Glenn had tried asking about the house, whether anything had changed. All I could do was ignore him. He was partly responsible for me being here, and I couldn't take out the anger I was feeling on him. Glenn was too nice for me to be mean.

The truth was I didn't know these people, and they certainly didn't know me. And yet here I was, packing my things to travel halfway across the state with these strangers because the prospect of being alone was scarier than travelling with them.

I packed my things away quickly, tucking the tent and blanket away in the hidden storage units of the caravan. Anything else I kept in my yellow bag, like my water bottle, book and clothes. Random stuff. Everyone else had filled the cars to the brim, which would not be good for fuel consumption, but I knew there were no other alternatives.

Across the camp, Daryl had lowered the tailgate of his 1973 pickup. I assumed he was bringing the bike, so I went to help him. It would be heavy for him to lift alone, not that he would ever admit that.

I stopped him as he pushed the bike closer to the truck. Seeing the bike again reminded me of Merle. "Need any help?"

He didn't answer but nodded down the bike and squatted to get his hand under the body. I grabbed the handles, lifting the front up and into the truck's bed. Daryl pushed the back wheel up and rolled the bike forward with his other hand. He used the kickstand to keep the bike standing up and slammed the tailgate closed.

"Hand me that rope," Daryl pointed over the bike to some black webbing on the ground behind me. I nodded, grabbing the fabric and throwing one end over to Daryl. I assumed he was securing the bike, so I kept a hold of the other end while he worked. Seeing him packing his things was strange to me when he once seemed so devoted to finding Merle.

"I didn't realise you'd want to come to the C.D.C.," I spoke my thoughts aloud.

"For now," Daryl shrugged. "Ain't like I got much else to do."

I nodded absently.

Something Daryl said two days prior was still gnawing at the back of my mind, something I had wanted to ask about. He said that Merle should have stayed where he was, that they came right back for him. I wondered if I should have stayed and waited for my dad.

Daryl would probably be the only person that would give a straight answer if I asked. He knew the importance of family, and now I was being taken from mine. Daryl tightened the rope so it would hold the bike in place. Daryl dealt with that quickly and walked around to where I was standing, taking the webbing from me.

Just get it over with, I told myself.

"Can I ask you something?" The only reason I knew Daryl heard me was by the way he grunted, a dismissive tone that basically meant do whatever you want. "I just . . . I don't know. Need an opinion, I guess? You're the only one who might get it."

Daryl made a frustrated noise and yanked on the strap, tightening the rope. "What is it?"

I asked, knowing that beating around the bush any longer would only annoy him. "You said Merle should've waited for you. Should I have waited?"